


breeder

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Breeding, Dubious Consent, F/M, Female Stiles Stilinski, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:10:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1475899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in response to a prompt that distills down to: werewolves are the ruling class, arrangements where they use a human for breeding are legal and normal, and Derek follows through on the dubcon</p><p>(previously posted as "as yet untitled kinkmeme fill")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> in response to [this prompt](http://tnw-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/4905.html?view=826409#t826409)

If Stiles were a boy, she would've been celebrating her sixteenth birthday with Scott. She would've taken Driver's Ed last semester, and Dad would've handed over the keys to their old Jeep, so she'd be driving around with Scotty right about now, celebrating their newfound freedom.

As a girl, Stiles' birthday is shaping up rather differently. She won't see Scott - won't even see her dad - for at least a couple months, and in fact, she hasn't seen them for a week, since she reported to the intake facility. They did allow her a phone call, but she and dad spent the entire fifteen minutes pretending they weren't both miserable, and studiously avoiding mention of how her week had gone - he didn't want to talk about invasive medical procedures any more than she did, Stiles presumed.

She'd gotten the green light three days ago - no pregnancy or STDs for her, and all her parts were in working order - but they couldn't hand her off until her 5,844th day of life.

Apparently, those three days make a big difference in whether she's old enough to use as a breeding machine. Go figure.

She's almost glad to be released, even though what comes next scares the ever-loving bajeezus out of her. She's been bored out of her freaking mind. The nurses at intake are surprisingly nice people - all human - and she'd been allowed tv and reading material. Stiles just doesn't do well cooped up. It doesn't bode well for the next few years of her life.

She won't be a slave by any means, but she will be...restricted. Apparently contact with non-werewolves has proven to be "disruptive" to the program, and she won't be allowed to do anything that places her at even remote risk of miscarriage - they've gotta get their money's worth, after all. Two years of her life only gets them two successful pregnancies if they're lucky. If they're going to save themselves from the genetic bottlenecking they caused by being elitist fuckheads for the last couple centuries, they need her - and every other eligible human woman - to give them as many kids as possible during their term.

At least her IQ and blood type bagged her a private gig, and she'll be living in somebody's home. Otherwise, she might have been _here_ the entire term.

She still can't decide which is better: being bred by a series of strangers who can't afford to house her for two years, or being stuck with a single guy whose virtues include rich and fertile. Depends on who the guy is, but apparently no one thinks she needs to know until he collects her like a dog at the pound.

Which is why she's jittering away in a waiting room at 6pm on her sixteenth birthday, instead of playing skeeball with Scott and forgetting to use her turn signal.

At least she knows he won't be fat and ugly. Werewolves don't really _do_ fat and ugly, as far as she can tell - if they're actually gross and inbred, you sure as hell can't tell by looking. Back before the program started, she used to drool over how hot they were, but in the last year, she's been a little too busy freaking out over having her future hijacked to think about it.

But she'll be able to afford college now. Dad couldn't have sent her on an assistant deputy's salary, and Stiles has this...problem with focus which means goodbye, academic scholarship. But the only good thing about this stupid program is that even though it's compulsory, they do have to compensate her, and with a private assignment, she's heard that this guy...if he likes her, he could help her even more. Pull strings with a good college, cover her full education, even get her dad a raise - he can't be promoted any further, he's hit the ceiling as a human....

Stiles jumps as the door to the room bangs open and a wolf barges in, Stiles' case worker right behind him. "Get your things," the wolf says. "We're leaving." And then he's gone as quick as he came, the door swinging back and forth on its latch in his wake.

Stiles stares at the space where he'd been with a slack jaw.

"Well," his case worker finally says. "I was going to introduce you. That was - "

"Derek Hale." Derek Hale, local celebrity. Derek Hale, target of radical humanists. Derek Hale, who left town after their trial years ago. 

Stiles' breeding partner was _Derek fucking Hale_.

"Yeah," Stiles' case worker says, sounding less than impressed. "I think you'd better hurry - I wouldn't put it past him to just leave you here."

She totally has a point, so Stiles grabs her bag and runs after him, still quietly freaking out in the privacy of her own mind. She barely gets all her limbs inside the vehicle before it's peeling away from the curb - Stiles swears and yanks on her seatbelt so hard it jams up on her.

"Jesus, what are you, on fire? Slow down!"

He glares at the road. "Werewolves don't have car accidents."

That's complete and utter bullshit if she ever heard it, and Stiles knows bullshit. "Yeah, _okay_." She grabs onto the door handle so tight her knuckles whiten as he zips around another car. "But there are humans on the road without your reflexes - you may not be part of the accident, but you'll sure as hell _cause one_."

Like a big petulant baby, Derek gooses the gas just to spite her. Stiles fumbles her seatbelt on just in time for him to fishtail around a corner without decelerating first.

Stiles squeezes her eyes shut, and fervently pretends she's not in a car with a maniac.

By the time they skid to a stop, Stiles is probably putting off so much fear and adrenaline she hopes it's choking Derek in the close confines of the car. She can't bring herself to open her eyes right away, even though they've stopped. It's not until he drops keys into her lap that her eyes startle open.

"Fifth floor. Get out."

They're in a parking garage under a building. "You're not coming in?"

"No. _Get out_."

"But - " Derek's eyes flash blue and his fangs start to drop. Stiles scrambles to open the door - she's not quite clear of it when he reaches across to yank it closed, so she's forced to dance out of the way or be squished. He tears out of the parking lot and leaves her standing there. "Hi, Derek, I'm Stiles. Nice to meet you."

Derek's building has a cage elevator, so Stiles can actually see inside every loft on floors two through four. Eerily, they're all empty. Not just empty, but as far as she can tell, completely unfinished. uninhabitable.

When the elevator stops at the fifth floor, it's not much better. Concrete floor and exposed pipes - less industrial chic, more just plain industrial. There a _hole in the wall_ big enough to walk through, but she wouldn't call it a doorway - it looks like Derek literally punched through to the other side, then hauled the bricks away. Except, nope - she walks through the opening and sees a pile of rubble in the corner.

Charming.

There is...what she would dubiously call a kitchen, if it had a fridge or stove instead of exposed hookups. The cupboards are completely empty. Thankfully they fed her dinner at the center, and there _is_ a working toilet.

No lights, though. Or at least, no lightbulbs.

There is one piece of furniture in the space she can access - a bare mattress on the floor in the corner of...what could be the living room. She found one locked room, but she can't imagine it's any better equipped than the rest of the place.

He's stinking rich and they're practically squatting.

It's getting dark and there's nothing to do, but she finds that she's crashing from the day's adrenaline and stress, so she curls up on the naked mattress and pillows her head on her arm. She drops off almost immediately into a deep sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> k, so everybody remember how the prompt asked for Derek following through on the dubcon? you've been warned. 
> 
> also, Derek's got issues. which...doesn't he always?

When Stiles was younger, she used to have these... (*ahem*) fantasies. This was years before the HOPE Act would even be considered, and at the time, the idea of a werewolf and a human together had seemed exotic, a little taboo, and extremely unlikely to ever enter her reality. Back then she'd felt safe, and the only real wolves in her life were the guys at the station, who respected her father (despite his species) and who saw her as something of a mascot.

When she hit puberty, she used to spend hours finding interspecies porn in the shadier corners of the internet, and the darker narratives she found there - werewolf fucks pet human, werewolf threatens human (with his dick), werewolf lures defenseless human into sexy sexy slavery - never failed to make her flushed and wet and horny. Way more than the 'werewolf and human in forbidden love' stories.

She always felt vaguely guilty, like there had to be something wrong with her for enjoying that, but she _did_ , a _LOT_ , and Stiles had never been one to let morals get in the way of her me-time if she could help it. She spent a lot of time alone in her room fapping to the idea of a wolf holding her down and doing just about every sex act a kid with google could possibly know about.

Derek Hale was a frequent star of those fantasies. And well...if she's being honest, those fantasies never entirely stopped. She never dreams up detailed scenes now when she gets off - it cuts too close to reality and makes her anxious - but she still dwells on some amorphous danger and helplessness when she's desperately aroused, and her fantasies have just been driven into her subconscious, into her dreams.

So at first, when she stirs awake and sees Derek looming over her in the dark, she thinks it's a dream. It makes her wet. His eyes start to glow, and something about that - him reacting to her - rings false. In her dreams, the wolf acts, she reacts, and never the opposite. It's not enough to wake her fully, but it niggles.

Other details filter in - the low bed, the high ceiling, the bare mattress, her full state of dress...and just as she starts to remember where she is and why, she realizes Derek is standing over her completely naked.

She scrambles up to sitting and her heart starts to pound. 

"Okay - I can't believe I have to say this? But watching someone sleep while you're naked - very creepy. Not okay." 

The streetlights filtering in through the window make Derek the most illuminated thing in the room. She can see his nostrils flare as he takes an exaggerated breath. "You don't seem to mind so much."

Stiles' face goes hot and her penchant for retort completely fails her, buried under mortification and the adrenaline spike that hits as he drops to his knees on the bed.

This close, she catches a scent that makes her heart seize up, a smell familiar from the drunk tank at the station. Bane booze. Stiles scoots away from him til she hits the wall. "Listen, you seem like you've had a rough day, am I right? This is nothing that can't wait til morning, after we've both slept and...had time to get bedsheets. You know, if you stain the mattress, you void the warranty, so there's no need to be hasty."

"You should mount your human partner within twelve hours of initial contact," Derek says, eyes losing illumination. He sounds utterly calm, sober, and like he's reading straight from a brochure. She's so stunned by this that she doesn't register he's reaching for her til it's too late - Derek grabs her ankles and yanks her down the bed, flat onto her back, legs splayed around him, then he's caging her in, looming above her. The fermented wolfsbane is pungent on his breath. "Postponing the commencement of their duties fosters a sense of denial, detrimental to both the program's goals and the enrollee's mental health. Providing any 'adjustment period' to your human partner is therefore actually cruel."

Stiles gapes up at him. "You know that's bullshit, right?"

Derek shrugs. "There's no point in putting it off." 

Stiles draws breath to tell him how very wrong he is, but his hand clamps over her mouth. 

"No more talking."

'Fuck that,' she thinks, and bites down on his finger.

It's possible she didn't think through the consequences of applying this tactic to a werewolf - immediately, Derek's face transforms with a snarl and he lunges for her throat. 

It happens so fast that 'I'm gonna die' and 'hey, look, I'm not dead' occur to her almost at once. Her body panics belatedly, jolting so hard that she skewers herself right onto the fangs he laid against her skin. He rumbles against her throat and she freezes, tense and still. He licks her blood off his teeth, and Stiles' belly trembles. 

"Okay, no more talking, and especially no biting. Got it."

He licks at her throat, and Stiles aborts the sound that arises in her throat. Nope, nope, not doing that. Not making whimpering prey sounds with an actual predator's teeth worrying her skin. There's a huff of breath, and human teeth sinking carefully, without penetration, into her flesh.

And because Stiles need therapy, because she has really serious issues, it turns her on. In fact, now that she's reasonably certain she's not about to die, she realizes she never stopped being aroused, which. God, fuck her life.

Derek has obviously noticed as well, because he snorts derisively against her skin. "Of course you're one of those." Stiles has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself quiet. She also has to fight to keep still as Derek starts to nose at her ear. "Want me to use my teeth on you? My claws? You like knowing that I could hold you down with a single hand, no matter how hard you struggle?"

The thought makes her belly squirm - makes her hot and ashamed of herself and pissed at him. Abruptly Derek sits up and gestures towards the door.

"You wanna make a break for it? Go on. I'll chase you down and rut you on the floor like an animal. Would you like that?"

Derek's features are twisted in disgust, and rage burns in Stiles' chest. He's angry with _her_? Disgusted with _her_? But Stiles keeps her mouth shut - she's capable of learning her lesson, thank you very much. At least until the next time she forgets. 

But she glares up at him, hard eye contact she knows must make his skin crawl.

"Get your clothes off," he finally says. "I want to inspect my brood mare."

"Oh, fuck you," she spits out, because she's really not that good at learning from her mistakes after all. Maybe because of the way she yanks her shirt off over her head, Derek doesn't react to the outburst. He just watches her as she slips out of her bra and shimmies her jeans and panties down her legs. 

She's too outraged to feel self-conscious until after she's naked and Derek's eyes are roving over her body. His face is impassive but his dick is getting stiff. She wants to touch it. She feels a little jealous when he wraps his hand around it and starts stroking.

"Roll over." 

Stiles' heart leaps - she knew this was coming and thought she'd prepared herself, but all of a sudden it's too fast. It's stupid because she knew where this was going as soon as she saw Derek naked by her bed, but. She's just not ready. And facing the other way, she won't be able to see....

Her hesitation earns her a sharp, stinging smack on her thigh. Derek's mouth is pressed in a tight line. "Roll _over_."

"I'm not a dog you can order around."

He _growls_ and grabs at her, flipping her onto her stomach easily and manhandling her onto her hands and knees. He anchors a hand in her hair and - while she's still reeling from what's just happened - uses it to yank her back onto his dick.

"What the fuck. What the _fuck_ , a little warning, _Jesus_." She tries to look back but his grip tightens and she can't turn her head. 

It's not that it _hurt_ , really. Stiles has been fucking herself on the regular since the somewhat logistically tricky purchase of her first dildo last year. And it's not like she wasn't soaking wet, but c'mon. So rude.

Also, Derek is bigger than Lola. Significantly.

At least he doesn't move right away. In fact, he's still for so long, just sitting there and breathing rather heavily through his nose, that Stiles starts to flex her hips around him the way she does with Lola. God, she's horny.

"You're really not capable of shutting up _or_ staying still, are you?"

"Nope," she sighs, and rotates her hips. He growls under his breath and pulls out.

Pushes her shoulders and head down til she buckles to her elbows, and thrusts back in. Then he starts to fuck her.

If he was hoping to quiet her, it's a losing tactic, but maybe it's enough for him that she stops making words other than "oh" and "god" and "fuck." It's way too overwhelming a feeling to keep quiet - harder and faster than she's ever achieved with a dildo and right on the edge of a bad sort of pain. But it's not bad, oh no, even if her face is twisted up like she's in agony and some of the sounds that she's making are wounded and desperate.

She reaches out for something to grab onto but there's nothing to anchor her, and she ends up burying her fists in her own hair to keep from losing her mind. Derek's grip shifts down to her neck, squeezing the nape hard enough she's sure she'll be bruised up tomorrow.

Oh god, she's gonna hurt so bad tomorrow. 

His hips make a sharp smack-smack-smack as they collide with her ass, accompanied by the obscene wet sounds of her cunt around his dick. She doesn't think she can come like this but it feels so good her toes have curled. She wants to reach for her clit but she's afraid she'd land on her face without both arms braced against the hammering of his hips.

Just when she thinks she might actually, legitimately lose her mind from this, he grunts and wraps his arm around her middle, sitting back and hauling her into his lap. He's breathing hard against her skin, less from the exertion, she thinks, than arousal. 

The first touch to her clit makes her clamp down and flinch, she's so sensitive. His arm tightens up across her stomach and he rubs til her head falls back against his shoulder.

She's not thinking at all in that moment. She's not thinking about his motivations, his weird resentment, why he'd bother giving her pleasure when he seems to resent her presence after he basically bought her. She's not thinking about that, until he starts speaking again in that same calm brochure voice.

"Make each breeding session pleasurable to your human partner - while not a necessity, it will increase the odds of conception. It can also make even the most reluctant enrollee accepting of the process. Some may even become eager to be bred as often as possible. Regular application of orgasm will reduce anxiety and depression, and promote a temporary bond within your human partner similar in character to a pack bond, though far weaker and more transitory."

The little speech is like a slap in the face and she's trying to absorb it all when he starts to fuck her again, bracing her against the short, sharp thrusts the position affords him. If anything she feels less like coming than she did before, though her body's still primed, shuddering whenever Derek rubs her just the right way. She can't stop replaying the piece of propaganda, which disturbs her, or chewing on Derek's not-so-subtle message: touching her doesn't mean that he likes her or wants her to feel good. It serves a practical purpose, and that's all.

Stiles knows there are wolves that hate humans - everyone knows that - and she knows her life's been altered in a thousand ways by prejudice. She's just never felt it so acutely - never felt despised for what she is - until this moment. It doesn't quite even hurt her...it _bewilders_ her.

And yet, her mind goes blank when teeth sink into her flesh - like a button's been pushed. She draws in breath to cuss him and his teeth just sink in harder, close to breaking the skin even with the blunt human surface, and she sobs. Not entirely out of pain. God, what the fuck is wrong with her? It radiates from the juncture of her shoulder and her neck up into her skull, down to her pelvis and it anchors her back in her body, which is swollen and sensitive. Aching to come. Her breath's ragged in her throat, almost silent for once, which probably thrills him. Stiles schools it a little - short shallow fast - into something she knows will help her along and almost immediately she feels the pleasure swell up and she relaxes and breathes and thinks about how good his dick feels, how good his fingers feel, and mixes it a little with one of her fantasies and she's right there, reaches back and grabs his hair and he starts to fuck her faster and she comes, feeling pretty pleased with her ability to _will_ her body into something that good.

After she's gone limp, he lets her fall forward again and fucks her til his thrusts get choppy and he comes. He doesn't relax, and pulls out so quickly after, all she can think is that his orgasm must not have been anything like hers, and she feels a little smug because it serves him right. 

He gets up and leaves. A moment later, she hears a key in a lock and a door closes, locks from the other side. It's in the wrong direction from the front door. That's really when it occurs to her that he doesn't plan on sleeping with her. And she shouldn't want him to, but all of a sudden she feels kind of small and lonely. 

And cold. 

She doesn't have a blanket, so she pulls all her clothes back on and curls up. Any lingering relaxation from her orgasm's gone. Is this what her life is gonna be? For the next two years? Hate sex and a wolf that barely provides for her most basic needs? 

Fuck that. 

She stays up for a while, thinking about her options. She's supposed to be able to report abuse, but she's not sure that this qualifies. By her standards, yeah, but by official standards? Presumably he'll feed her tomorrow - he needs her healthy - but she doubts they give a shit if he's being _mean to her_. He hasn't injured her. Bite marks and bruises are practically _de rigueur_ for mating werewolves.

She also can't leave. Frankly she'd have nowhere to go and if they found her, she'd be arrested and placed back in the program. Probably taken off private assignment, which had less security. She'd be locked in the facility, taking all comers. It would also have consequences for her dad in the department.

She falls asleep without any answers, and she dreams about running through the woods, Derek hot on her heels.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, bet you thought you'd seen the last of this?

Stiles wakes up the next morning to a silent loft. She wasn't allowed to bring her cell phone into the program and of course there aren't clocks in Derek's apartment, so she's not sure exactly what time it is. But it's late. The sun is high and her stomach is cramping with hunger. That's actually what wakes her.

She gets out of bed - such as it is - and wanders through the apartment just to check. If he's here, then he's behind a locked door, and after she pounds on it for five minutes, she's fairly sure she's alone. She goes back to the bed and considers her options. There really aren't any. There's nothing that's stopping her from walking out, per se, but she has no money. If they were on the human side of town, that might be ok - people love her dad, and they like her well enough that she'd probably be able to get some food on credit if she asked. 

What little she remembers from the ride of terror last night tells her they're nowhere near that side of town. This area's industrial but buried in werewolf territory. Even if she could find the shops, they wouldn't let her enter. Not by herself.

She's pissed, but it's buried under the pain in her stomach and the serious hunger headache that's pounding at her temples. Stiles isn't sure if this is neglect or purposeful cruelty, but it doesn't really matter. 

She feels disgusting. Her panties are soaked from his come leaking out of her all night, and her jeans probably need to be burned. There's no point in changing until she has a shower, but the one bathroom she sees has no shower curtain or soap or towels. 

As soon as she hears the elevator, she pops to her feet. The door slides open and Derek's there but she barely registers his face before something large and shiny and - hot, ow, hot - comes flying at her head.

Breakfast burrito. It takes the space of two blinks to register what she's holding and then she's flooded with relief.

"Thank fucking God, I was starving," she yells after him as he disappears through the ripped-out wall. She's too busy tearing through the aluminum and stuffing her face to bother saying much more. 

From the other end of the apartment, she hears that door close and lock. She rolls her eyes and loses herself in the bliss of a giant tortilla-wrapped log of carbs and fat.

*

She collapses back on the mattress after she's done and rubs her belly. She actually feels _high_ from how good it is to be full, and she lets herself lay there for a while, not looking forward to seeking out Scrooge McDuck and explaining her feeding schedule - namely, that food has to happen multiple times a day. She thinks he missed that memo.

She dozes off for a while, but when she wakes up, she can hear sound coming from the locked room. She can hear voices. It takes her a few minutes to register it's a television, and she bolts up, righteous anger renewed. 

He has a motherfucking _television_ behind a locked door while she's living without basic necessities? Nuh-uh.

Considering he probably heard her wake up even with the tv on, it's fucking rude that he lets her pound on the door for a solid ninety seconds before he finally opens. She gets a glimpse of a dresser, television and bed - with sheets! - before he blocks her view of the room with his stupid broad shoulders.

"What?"

"Are you serious right now? I'm out here thinking we're pretty much squatting, when you're actually just hoarding all the fucking furniture to yourself. Who _lives_ like this? You don't have any dishes - last night I had to put my head under the tap like a dog so I could drink some water! Do you know your bathroom doesn't even have a shower curtain? I'm fucking filthy - with your dirty werewolf come, by the way, and - "

He slams the door in her face. Stiles is stunned enough that she can't even react for a minute. And ok, maybe she deserved that for the 'dirty werewolf come' thing but it _is_ filthy, she feels fucking disgusting, and - 

The door swings open, a ball of plastic is shoved into her hands, and it shuts again.

It's a shower curtain. With a little package on top that has the rings.

*

She still doesn't have soap, or shampoo - apparently it offends delicate werewolf sensibilities to have foreign bath products in their homes, so she wasn't allowed to bring her own. She feels better anyway, just for rinsing off - however derelict this place appears, the water heater works like a dream and the pressure makes her moan. She stands under the showerhead for longer than she can really justify.

No deodorant either - she should probably make a list, but she doesn't have pen or paper or access to electronics - but a change of fresh clothes makes her human, and when she steps out of the bathroom, she hears voices coming from the front door.

She stands in the doorway-slash-gaping-hole and looks on as Derek directs two werewolves carrying a sofa, and a series of others lugging boxes. Someone in a uniform shirt arrives and hands Derek a clipboard to sign - the floor of the elevator is littered with plastic bags from an expensive werewolf grocery store.

Derek looks her way and raises an eyebrow, jerking his head towards the mattress. _Stay out of the way_. Like she's a dog that might get underfoot. She was going to sit there and read, but she doesn't want to obey him, so she throws her dirty clothes in the corner and follows the delivery guy carrying grocery bags into the kitchen.

Stiles ignores the werewolf who's ignoring her, and starts poking around in the bags to see what Derek's bought. A lot of fresh food - no junk to speak of, which is predictable, she guesses. Most junk food's targeted towards humans. She always thought that was funny, since werewolves can eat whatever they want with little health risk, humans not so much, but that's really not a coincidence. Folk wisdom says it's because wolves have a more sensitive palate, but really it's about privilege and the economics of poverty. Not that most people see that.

He also bought toiletries - ones marketed towards humans and women, though unscented - and she takes that bag directly to the bathroom to unpack it. 

The groceries she leaves on the counter. Almost all of it needs to be refrigerated, and there's no fridge, but she imagines (now) that that's a temporary situation. She refuses to feel bad for assuming Derek just preferred squatter anti-chic, but this does make more sense. Derek moving back to town would've been big gossip - just about the only way Stiles wouldn't have heard is if he arrived within the last week. Given the state of the place, he must've gotten here right before he picked her up.

When a wolf barrels blindly into the kitchen with a huge box (the fridge), Stiles retreats to her mattress. None of the wolves even glance in her direction - it's so conspicuous that it must be by design. She wouldn't be surprised if it was considered a threat gesture to even look at Derek Hale's breeder. 

Not that Derek actually wants her. Fucking weird wolf politics. Is it just a status thing? Derek's practically aristocracy in werewolf society - not officially, not in the US, but for all the rejection of titles, old money and old bloodlines carry about as much sway, and Derek's got both. 

Stiles watches him interact with the movers, and it's interesting. He's the Derek she remembers from tv again - affable and open. More solemn than she remembers, but she can tell that these wolves respect him. It reminds Stiles of the way her dad treats the more fair-minded werewolves at the station - still being deferential, but with a warmth that indicates Derek actually deserves it, that it's not just his due. 

So he's only a raging dick to humans. Is that better or worse? Stiles doesn't know. 

Derek turns and scowls at her for staring, and Stiles flips him off, fairly sure he won't maul her with the help present. His eyes flash blue but he doesn't come at her.

She digs a book out of her bag and rolls to face the wall.

*

She's startled out of her story an indeterminate amount of time later by a pile of fabric being dropped directly onto her head. When she digs her way out from underneath, she realizes it's a sheet set, and pillows and a down comforter, and then Derek tosses a large plastic package at her face - he really likes doing that - which appears to be a mattress cover.

When she looks up, he's smirking at her in an ugly way. "We wouldn't want to void the mattress warranty with my 'dirty werewolf come.'"

He leaves after that. He doesn't say where he's going or how soon he'll be back. Stiles doesn't ask.

*

She's alone for most of the afternoon and evening, and takes the opportunity to riffle through his boxes, and hook up his entertainment system. He has a boring wardrobe, interesting taste in literature, and pretty crappy old tech. His tv is a heavy old behemoth still based on tubes. The cable's not on yet, and he owns very few DVDs (yeah, DVDs!) so she actually grows bored pretty quickly. 

She has to unpack the kitchenware before making anything more complex than a sandwich, so it's nine at night before she starts prepping dinner, wondering as she does what her dad's eating and how long it's been since he had vegetables. 

Being possessed of human senses, she doesn't realize Derek's right behind her til she turns to reach for a knife. He's looming three feet over her left shoulder and she swears.

"For fuck's sake, here's a tip: in the company of humans, it's polite to make _noise_."

He doesn't acknowledge the statement, and his breath smells like booze again. "You messed with all my things." 

Stiles eyes him and decides he's unlikely to hit her. Mild aggression in his body language, but he's not puffed up. She reaches around him and grabs the knife she wanted, but can't bring herself to turn her back to him once she has it. "Yeah well, that's what you get for leaving me home all day alone. It's like leaving a dog without food or entertainment. Your own fault if it piddles on the carpet while you're gone."

Derek's grip is like a steel trap when it closes around her hand, digging at all the pressure points to make her drop the knife. His eyes are narrowed on her face - electric-blue - as he backs her up against the counter, hurting her, holding her wrist so tightly that the fine bones grind together. There's a weightless feeling in her stomach as he seems to tremble on the fine edge of becoming violent.

Then he takes a deep breath and lets her hand go. His eyes are dark and flat. "From the beginning, establish a routine for your partner," he says, in that brochure-reciting tone. He turns her around, and she goes easily, still shaken. She doesn't even think to protest when he bends her over the counter, one hand in place to hold her there. "Initiate breeding at the same time of day so they know what to expect. Your partner will appreciate the predictability."

He thumbs the rivet of her jeans open and pulls the zip of the fly. Stiles feels her face flush when that's all it takes to get her wet – she's had this dream. The fear pumping through her veins, the hand holding her in position, the fingers dipping between her legs. She's fantasized about this and her body reacts; it's surreal.

His fingers are strangely gentle as they rub her through her panties.

"Limit the frequency for the first three days - humans bruise easily under werewolf power and, at first, may need a full day between sessions to recover." Derek leans in and pointedly inhales against her throat. "I don't think that's going to be a problem for you. Right?"

A day is truthfully not nearly enough - she's still aching, but he's right. If anything, it arouses her more. 

"As if your dick's big enough to hurt anything," she snaps back, and Derek snorts at the blatant lie. There's an awkward pause as he peel her jeans and panties down as far as her knees, and pulls his dick out through his fly. He must be out of HOPE propaganda, because he doesn't speak. The sound of her own breathing is loud in her ears.

It hitches when she feels his dick probe at her entrance, and then he's sliding inside. Stiles can't hold in the soft moan, part discomfort and part satisfaction – God, he feels so _good_ , she wonders if he'd let her make a dildo mold as a parting gift. She pushes up on her toes and grinds back against his hips, and he lets out a gritty laugh.

"They told me – you know, they told me you might be uncooperative or frightened the first few times." He rocks against her a little, just countering her moves, and she gets so wet. Not just from his dick, but the total derision in his voice, just in case she had doubts that she's fucked up in the head. "They gave me lube because they said you wouldn't get aroused enough for 'optimal breeding' until I showed you 'how rewarding service could be.'" 

Oh fuck them – and fuck her brain for finding this little speech kind of stimulating. Derek hooks his hands over her shoulders and starts to fuck her, just hard enough to make her feel cored out. If she were home alone she'd be moaning, but fuck him, so she holds it in. 

"All those warnings, and then I get you. Little werewolf groupie, all sloppy for me. How'd I get so fucking lucky, huh?" 

Another wolf would mean that sincerely, but Derek – who's put out and petulant about buying his own fucktoy – doesn't. He'd rather she not enjoy herself? Peachy. She reaches down to frig her clit. 

He huffs out a breath. "Go ahead. They tell me the more you get off on this, the faster we'll get it over with. Be a good little breeder and do what you should."

Oh, that's a fucking low blow – joke's on him, though. When faced with a choice between orgasms and principles, she'll choose getting off every time.

He shuts up after that, which helps, and does what he's best at, which is fuck her really well. She's a little bit agitated by his bullshit, though, so it takes her twice as long as usual to get off. 

Almost as soon as she comes, he shoots his load. Then he backs away like he can't get his hands off her soon enough.

He's back in his room with the door locked before Stiles even catches her breath, and she wonders if he even likes sex. Not that she's an expert in the afterglow, but he knows how to ruin it.

She contemplates what it would be like, were he a cuddler afterwards, and shudders at the thought – better he's a humorless dick, then. She pulls up her pants, rinses the floor cooties off her knife, and finishes making her dinner. 

She was going to make chicken, but uses all the prime-grade beef in the fridge instead. Derek can fuck himself. 

But it kind of makes her miss her dad.


End file.
